


Close Encounters of the Ingenious Kind

by starkind



Series: Genius In The Making [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Eventual Relationships, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, MIT Era, Slow Build, Teenage Dorks, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the year 1985.<br/>15-year-old Tony Stark is still finding his way around MIT when he gets a new roommate.<br/>It seems campus life is bound to get way more exciting... but how does 17-year-old Bruce Wayne feel about that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, after a long period of toing and froing, this is it. I went and did the thing. A Stark/Wayne college AU. 
> 
> All credits for the initial idea go to Alluring Pig(gy) - without you, this wouldn't exist, so thanks for giving me this prompt! Let's just hope whatever I've made out of it is remotely as you pictured it to be!
> 
> Some quick fact check before we get started:
> 
> \- For practical reasons, Bruce Wayne will -for once- be older than Tony Stark (if only by 2 years)  
> \- There will be a lot of 80's lingo/music/themes, meaning I've tried to stay true to that decade best I could  
> \- This is a series, so ratings will change/go up as we proceed & the boys get older (and naughtier)  
> \- If the underage warning applies at some point, I will give a heads up in the tags and the respective chapter(s)

_Massachusetts_ _Institute of Technology, 1985_

“Hey, watch it!”  
With a clatter, all of his books sailed down to the floor.  
“Goddamn freshmen everywhere.”  
  
To the laughter of a group of elder students, the slender young boy pressed his lips together and bent down to pick the strewn items up. The large corridor was crowded, and he clenched his teeth when people trampled onto his belongings and kicked some of them out of his reach.

“Here.”

Through the curtain of light brown hair, he glimpsed up with mistrust. Someone held out one of his missing binders. Someone skinny with a big, toothy grin, and an even bigger tooth gap between the two frontal incisors. He grabbed the binder and rose to his feet again. Much to his surprise, he was taller than his unknown helper by a good few inches.

“Thanks.”  
The other boy shrugged and watched him stuff his backpack.  
“No biggie. First day at MIT? Need a tour?”

With a resolute zip, he closed his bag and left it dangling over one shoulder.  
“Nah, I'm fine.”  
Two dark brown eyes seized him up, then narrowed in barely contained amusement.

“Good luck then keepin' up, buddy. And better remember the force of gravity next time.”

The boy then plunged his fists into the pockets of his track jacket and sauntered away. He really was shorter than most of the other students. The lanky, pale youngster turned around and headed into the opposite direction, off to his very first course in physics I.

* * *

Life on campus was going to be hell, according to Bruce Wayne.

At 17, almost a thousand miles away from his hometown Gotham City, he abhorred the idea of spending four years studying full-time physical sciences. Alfred, the family's trusted butler, had appealed to his conscience, had told him how much his deceased father, a renowned doctor, would have been proud of his only son. The latter had chosen to remain silent at that.

By tragedy, his parents had left him alone in this world when he was just eight years; Bruce figured that wherever they were, pride was not one of the things they held dear. Besides, Bruce did not even want to become a doctor. Bruce did not want to become anything at that exact point in his life. Or, maybe, there was one certain thing. He wanted to become invisible.

"Bruce Wayne?”  
He looked up from where he had maimed an innocent orange with a pencil.  
“Yes?”

The secretary at the Undergraduate Housing Office was a friendly woman in her early forties with long, brown hair. She smiled at him and made an inviting gesture. “Come on in, please. We have found a solution for your housing problem.” Bruce frowned at the word problem, but put the soaked pencil aside and stood up. Once he had taken a seat opposite of her, the woman flipped through a huge binder.

“The process for undergraduate housing at MIT is regulated. Unfortunately, single rooms are currently not available. But I've spoken with someone from your family, and he said apartment sharing was fine.” Bruce stared at the secretary without emotion. She looked up at him and smiled again. “You have visited some of the dorms during REX week, haven’t you? At least we are still able to go with your registered preferences and found you a room at Baker House.”

The Gothamite worked his jaw and avoided her glance.  
“How many people?”  
She overlooked his bluntness, turned a page in the binder, and showed him the floor plans.

“It’s a double room. Of course, you're eligible to sign up for the waiting list to switch housing and request another hall if you find it doesn't work out. I'd suggest you'd give it a chance though; you might like it after all.” She began setting up the necessary papers and went for a drawer filled with keyrings.

"Be aware though that all MIT residence halls close for the summer. But I’m sure you’ll be looking forward to spending the summertime at home with your family anyhow.” At that, the Gothamite's face turned to stone. With slow movements, he dragged his backpack off the nearby chair. The secretary handed him a keyring and shoved a piece of paper over to him.

“The Baker House Residence is not far from here. If you go...”  
The youngster handed the rental agreement and the pen back to her.  
“I _know_ where it is.”

His harsh tone caused the woman to give him a surprised look.  
Before he was out of her office, the Wayne scion turned around one more time.  
There was resentment in his cold, hazel eyes.  
  
“And he's the butler, not family.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony Stark shoved the granola bar into the back pocket of his jeans, the overstuffed binder under his arm, and skipped up the stairs towards his room. Whistling along to a happy tune in his head, he turned when two female senior students passed him by, dressed in short skirts. Tony's whistle took on an appreciative note, to which they cast him rotten looks.

“Little dweeb.”  
  
With a shake of the head, Tony rolled his eyes and fished for his keys. He entered to find an unfamiliar bag resting on the free bed to the left. Puzzled, he threw his binder onto the unmade heap of blankets that was his sleeping arrangement and looked around. The double room was considerably sparse, with two solid wooden beds, tables, shelves, and closets.

A small sink sat in the wall next to Tony’s side of the room; a bench seat was placed square in the middle. The window front allowed a good view on campus from the 3rd  floor, onto a lot of green. Students were not allowed to occupy a double room by themselves, so Tony had been expecting a new resident to be assigned to the vacancy.

His former roommate had been a crazed guy named Hank, who was on his way to a Ph.D. in Biochemistry. He had moved to England after taking on a relationship with a college student from Oxford. Tony frowned at the nondescript black bag again. He decided to chuck his own bag onto his bed as well and went to have a look outside for any unknown faces around the residence.

Baker House Lounge was a rather sparse area framed by brick walls. Tony never liked spending his leisure time there. It was in the possession of a medium-sized TV station, a payphone, and a water dispenser. Other than the dining area, which stretched out over two floors, it came across as cramped and dark. A lone figure sat on the wooden windowsill bench, legs drawn up to his body, and stared out into the distance.

Stark Jr sauntered near, hands in the pockets of his acid wash jeans. He grinned when he made out the profile.

"Hey, the Gravity Boy. You my new roommate by any chance?”  
Bruce looked up. Recognition flooded his countenance, though rather impassive.  
“If you're Anthony Stark, then yes.”

The shorter boy pulled a comical grimace and blew at a loose strand of his spiky hairdo.  
“Nah, I'm Tony. 'Anthony' is stiff suits at a Sunday brunch, piano lessons, and generally: Yuck.”  
His opposite eyed him in open confusion and slight repugnance.

“Are you always this weird?”  
It was the second time Bruce got exposed to that gap-toothed smile.  
“Only on days ending with a Y.”  
  
The Gothamite gave a quiet snort and proceeded to look out of the windows again.  
“Babysitting. Just great.”  
Tony puffed his chest out and pulled a face.  
  
“What a charmer. Got a name there by any chance, or should I just call you 'sunshine'?”  
When he did not seem to get acknowledged, Stark was about to turn around.  
“Bruce.”  
  
Tony stopped in his tracks, a triumphant curl of the lip.  
“Ha. Now we’re talking.”  
With a small jump, he plopped down in front of Bruce on the sill. His legs dangled in mid-air.  
  
“I reckon you’re older than me. That’s alright, I’m used to that.”  
It prompted Wayne Jr to turn his head and look at him.  
“Seventeen. How old are _you_ anyhow?”

Tony put up a proud grin, though he kept his lips closed.  
“Fifteen. Gonna be graduating in two years.”  
Incredulous, Bruce examined him from head to toe.

“That’s even weirder.”  
Stark tapped at his head.  
“Nah, it’s all in the brains. I just happen to have a lot of it.”

Again Bruce snorted, this time at the teenager’s matter-of-fact statement.  
“Humility’s not your best trait.”  
The way he said it was not meant to be funny, but it prompted Tony to giggle.

"Runs in the family.”  
He failed to see Bruce’s eyes darken and kicked the back of his sneakers against the radiator.  
“Anyhow, c'mon – let's get you all moved in. I'll show you around!”

His verve did not rub off on the Gothamite, but once Tony had bounced back onto his feet and looked at his new roommate full of excitement, Bruce slid off the windowsill with slow movements and followed the shorter boy back down the aisle to their room.

* * *

During the very first nights in his new quarters, Bruce was unable to find sleep. Once more he lay awake in the darkness on his left side, felt the beating of his heart, and stared out of the window. Sometimes a branch of a tree would move in the wind, visible in the faint illumination of the street lights on campus, down below.

"Bruce?"  
Blankets rustled and the Gothamite strained to see across the room. Then he heard a soft sigh.  
"Ah, shucks."

Tony continued to twist and turn around until Bruce eventually cleared his throat.  
"What's wrong?"  
For the briefest moment, the younger boy went rigid.  
  
"So you _are_ awake."  
When no further confirmation followed his deduction, Tony harrumphed.  
"I can't sleep."

Neither of them made a move to switch on the lights.  
“Why's that?”  
Even if Bruce found he did not care, the words were out before he knew it.

“This weekend's visiting times, and I... just know nobody's gonna come, you know?”  
  
His voice broke, though whether it was because of puberty, or because of the topic remained unclear. The silhouette that was Tony then sat up. “So, uh, if you like, you can get someone from your family to sleep over here. A guy named Rhodey has offered me to take the couch at his place for a night or two. He's a cool dude, so it's alright, I don't mind.”

Bruce drew the blanket higher up his chest.  
“I don't think anyone's gonna come, so you can stay.”  
The opposite bed creaked as Tony scrambled back down into a horizontal position.

“Because you just got here, and they don't want you to get any more homesick?”  
The only heir to the Wayne empire swallowed around a constricted throat.  
“Because I don't have anyone anymore. Except for Alfred.”

“Alfred?”  
Bruce closed his eyes as they started to burn.  
“He's our... my butler.”

And just like that, Tony Stark understood, even if Bruce Wayne did not put it into words.

“We'll make our own event then. Private club, two members only. There's gonna be pizza, and lots of sweets. It'll be neat.” A yawn interrupted his growing list and simultaneously his growing optimism. Tony punched his pillow three times and made a satisfied sound. “G'night Bruce and don't worry. Okay?” He was fast asleep before he could hear the hesitant “Okay” from the other side of the room.  
  
Somehow, Bruce dozed off shortly after as well.

 


	3. Chapter 3

On Saturday afternoon, Tony took Bruce on a short, 10-minute walk over to Bertucci's Pizza Parlor on 799 Main Street. They got a place at the window and ordered a Pepsi and a Coke. Bruce slurped around his straw as he looked around. The restaurant was clean but modest. “You come here often?” He eyed the red-white checkered place mats made from paper with curiosity.  
  
“Yup. They do the best brick oven pizza you've ever tasted.”  
Tony wiggled inside the booth and leaned over the wooden table to point on the menu.  
“And you gotta try the warm chocolate chip cookie with gelato. Totally worth the five bucks!”  
  
His opposite cocked his head at the foreign element of language. “Are you Italian or something?” Stark jr. nodded with empathy. “Part-Italian, cause of my mother. She's from Milan. And your...” Tony stopped and pulled a face. “... uh, I mean, are you, like, a native Gothamite?” The elder boy nodded and cast his eyes downward to inspect the menu again.

“I don't know what to pick. We've never had any pizza back home.”  
His voice was part helpless, part irritated. Tony shoved his gum into the pouch of his cheek.  
“I'll tell you which ones are best. I've nearly tried them all. We'll turn you into a pizza lover.”

After they had stuffed their faces with Pucillo and Silano pizza, Tony persuaded Bruce to split dessert. Soon enough, the waiter brought them a plate with two spoons and the bill. Both boys simultaneously reached out for their wallets. The Stark heir then made a dismissive gesture. “Leave it, tonight's on me.” He sent the waiter off with a generous tip and shoved the wallet back into his jeans.  
  
“You can pay next time.”  
It mollified the slightly offended expression on Bruce's face a little.  
On their way back, it was already starting to get dark.  
  
When the turned left behind Bexley Hall, a group of students crossed their paths.  
“Hey, loserface! Hey, Stark!”  
Bruce narrowed his eyes at the three elder boys sitting on a bench, smoking. One of them was straddling a yellow motorbike.  
  
“C'mon, just ignore them.”  
Tony's voice was low and hissed as he kept his gaze straight ahead.  
“Dickweed, hey – we're talking to you!”

Even as they walked on, undeterred, Bruce could not help but to turn around and look at them again. The guy on the dirt bike took it as an invitation to ignite his machine and geared up to come to a standstill in front of them in a cloud of dust. Tony and Bruce both began to cough and wiped their eyes. “Starky, you deaf or what? That's rude, walking past people who wanna talk to you.”  
  
Tony grimaced up at the tall boy with short black, spiky hair and his black-rimmed glasses.  
“Whatcha want, Ty? I ain't got time for your crap.”  
The elder student broke into a feral grin.  
  
“How bout some schweet 50 bucks for your good ol' friend? You'd hate to see me starve.”  
Bruce's eyes went from the cocksure boy over to a subdued Tony and back.  
“Leave him alone, he doesn't owe you anything.”  
  
The boy named Ty laid his eyes upon Bruce for the first time. His mouth twisted in repulsion.  
“What's wrong with you, noob, you want a fresh one? Kick rocks before I make you eat them."  
To reinforce his threat he pulled the clutch lever and let the engine rev, causing a wheel spin of the back tire.

It blew another gust of dust into the Gothamite's direction. That time, Bruce did not waver or cough, however, and continued to glare at the rowdy without any emotion. “Ooh, you're a toughie, beanpole. Tell me, Ant baby, where did you find him? The petting zoo?” Bruce's jaw began to work. His hands formed into fists inside of his pockets. Tony huffed.  
  
“Take a red, Ty, alright? I ain't got money, so go find yourself another bank tonight.”

From where he was still in a silent stare-down with the Gothamite, Ty eventually gave them the finger, revved up his engine in a high-pitched scream, and sped back over to his two friends. Tony was quick to pull Bruce along, over to the lawns of Baker House. “That was more diesel than I would've imagined from you. Ty's not gonna be a happy camper.”  
  
His taller friend shrugged with the same stone-faced expression from before.  
“I hope he won't.”  
In the faint light of the corridor, the red splotches on Bruce Wayne's pale cheeks went unseen.  


* * *

  
“C'mon, B, lemme help you.”  
“No.”  
“Why not, I've already done Quantum Physics last semester, it's easy.”

“Leave. Me. Alone.”  
“Why are you always stalling? Let me do it quickly, get it over with.”  
“No offense, Tony, but – fuck off. Seriously.”

“Whoa.”  
“... sorry.”  
“No, I mean – _you_ and cursing? _That_ never happened.”

“You're a bad influence apparently.”  
“Huh.”  
“I didn't mean it like that.”

“You meant it just the way you said it. I'm a lowlife nuisance.”  
_“Tony.”_  
“Yeah, no, that's basically what you said.”

“Do you happen to have any notes on wave-function phases and probability current?"  
“Sure do.”  
“Can I borrow them for a while?”

“That's all I'm gonna get?”  
"For what?”  
"For you calling me a lowlife nuisance?!”

“Hey, that's _not_ what I...”  
“Ah, heck, I don't bear grudges, B, 's alright. Here you go.”  
“... I don't believe this!” 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The door to their double room at the Baker House residence flew open with a bang.  
  
“Brucie-Bruce! Brucster! Get your butt in gear – big party at East Campus tonight!”

Tony Stark threw his bag into the corner and himself onto the bed in one fluid motion. He bounced on the mattress for a while, trying to get his roommate's attention. Eventually, Bruce Wayne graced him with a demoralizing glare over the rim of his book. He had long since decided to ignore all vexatious bastardizations of his name Tony came up with on a daily basis.  
  
“Whatever.”

Dismayed Tony Stark chewed harder on his ever present piece of gum and watched his opposite disappear behind the cover of _Classical Dynamics of Particles and Systems_ again. For a few heartbeats, Tony just fixated his long legs clad in faded dark jeans and crossed ankles.

The two of them had been sharing a room for the past six months, going from mutual wariness to slow acceptance. The outcast position they had in common played a huge part in forming a fragile bond, seeing that the Gothamite had been more than unwilling to let anyone too close.

Lost in thought, the fingers of Tony's left hand came up to touch the little stud in his earlobe. He had gone and gotten it pierced two weeks ago, at a nearby shopping mall. Once infection set in, Bruce had been grossed out by all the pus, blood and iodine Tony was producing and distributing in their sink. He made sure to disinfect all of his belongings until all was well again.

“You're gonna turn completely hermit for good, Moosh. Ain't gonna take much longer. Why don't'cha go out and, like, talk to people, or get high, get drunk, get a girl, I dunno. _Live.”_

Coming from a similar status of fortune as Stark, the withdrawn Bruce Wayne with his angular features, serious eyes, and quiet voice avoided social interactions. He might have been smart beyond average, but Bruce suffered from a general lack of direction. Tony, on the other hand, was plowing through all of the fields and subjects with an ease and confidence no regular teenager should have.

His high-level IQ had not only led to him being the youngest of his class, it also had led to him being considered some kind of freak. It was a stigma not even his wealthy background managed to erase, despite his best tries. During the past few months, Stark Jr had therefore begun to develop an intense interest in improving his good looks to charm the girls.

Most of the bathroom's shelf was crowded with his many bottles of luxury shampoos, shower gels, creams, fragrances, and hair styling products. At first, Bruce ridiculed him for it, then began to try out most of the stuff himself. If Tony knew, he never said a word, but his all-time favorite nickname for young Wayne originated from Bruce secretly mooching all his cosmetics. It was a tradeoff both boys could live with.

“I'm not interested in getting people to like me.”  
It sounded so much like a chance for a good comeback, Tony had to take it.  
“Not even people like me?”

Where the teasing tone had come from, Tony did not know.  
All he knew was that the visible parts of Bruce's ears turned a little redder than mere moments ago.  
Wayne did not show his face again and simply turned another page of his book.

“You mean obnoxious wastoids?”  
  
The fact that Tony also worked upon building up a serious booze tolerance to belong with the majority of his fellow, elder students was a controversial subject between the two. Bruce, whose indifference to most people and life in general overshadowed his abilities, once flat out told Tony how nobody liked sycophantic suck ups, no matter how well they held their liquor.

The current flat, matter-of-fact tone in Wayne jr.'s voice angered Tony more than he let on. He sprang to his feet and did a quick once over in the mirror near the coat rack before he grabbed a jacket. The final look he cast the emotionless youngster on the sofa was an icy one.

“Enjoy your books then, buzzkill Bruce. Later, jerkface!”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of attempted dub-con, albeit very light and non-graphic

Bruce never told a living soul he stayed awake most of that night.

When he was done reading, he laid down and stared at the red digits of his alarm clock. Once they had switched to 02:47 am, footsteps outside the hallway approached their room. They walked past, and the Gothamite heard female giggling and an unfamiliar, male voice. Wayne then got up, slipped into jeans and hoodie jacket, and went outside.

The evening was chilly, and he made use of the opportunity to break into a light jog on his way down Memorial Drive. He made good time on the 0.6 miles, and stood in front of a large, illuminated building less than seven minutes later. Loud music could be heard from outside, and Bruce followed a string of students with bottles in their hands.

It took him longer than anticipated to spot his missing roommate in a corner of one of the smoke-filled rooms, slouching upon a couch. Tony was balancing a bottle of beer upon his chest as he was making conversation with a senior. From the way he moved and gesticulated, Bruce immediately knew he was drunk.

Before he got to turn around and leave, angry at himself for making the effort, the elder guy began to ghost his hand over Tony's stomach and over onto his crotch. Wayne narrowed his eyes as he witnessed how his friend made a clumsy effort in warding the other guy off. His feet began to move almost on their own as he cut through the crowd.

Stepping closer, Bruce was able to hear bits and pieces of a conversation between Tony and the elder guy.  
It was a rather one-sided conversation with a lot of one-sided body contact on top.  
“... you just told me you wanted to try it out. C'mon.”

Bruce felt his heartbeat increase and all but stumbled in front the sofa. At his intruding, the elder guy took his hands away and threw him an annoyed look. Wayne noticed he had already managed to open the zipper of Tony's jeans at some point. Tony also cast glazed eyes up at him, and through the haze of his drunken stupor shone a faint hint of relief and recognition.

The Gothamite cleared his throat and avoided to look at the unknown senior. Trying for a confident, commanding presence, Bruce put his arms akimbo. “Wanted to pick you up. Your girlfriend's waiting for you.” He had to yell as the volume of the music increased, and Robert Palmer's 'Addicted to Love' blasted through the residence. Tony blinked up at him a couple of times, stupefied.  
  
“Who?”  
The exasperated look Bruce threw him was only part-faked.  
“Your girl?!”  
  
It was said with such vehemence that the senior student shook his head, stood up, and left. Spurred by the success of his grand scheme, the Gothamite then mustered up enough courage to lean over and pull Tony to his feet, albeit wobbly. He placed the empty beer bottle aside and slung an arm around the shorter boy's midriff to steady them both.

Outside, the fresh air hit their flushed faces with vigor, and Tony near fell down the stairs.  
“Wait a sec.”  
Bruce threw Tony's abandoned sweater over his shoulder and reached out for the open zipper.  
  
“We at s'cond base 'lready?”  
As quick as he was done, the Gothamite pulled back, incensed.  
“Shut up!”  
  
The way back took substantially longer, and Bruce was panting from exertion at having to steady the swaying form of his roommate. Halfway home, Tony then suddenly haltered their steps, leaned over a trashcan and puked out the remains of his dinner.

“Serves you right.”  
Bruce remained out of spewing range and wiped his sweated forehead with a sleeve.  
Once Tony was done retching, he found himself being handed a tissue to wipe his mouth.

“F'ck you too.”  
  
Stark jr. crumpled the handkerchief and threw it into the trashcan before he tried to walk on alone. From the way he careened from one end of the sidewalk to the other Bruce sighed, closed the distance between them, and linked arms with him after a couple of steps.

“I just don't get you sometimes.”  
Tony coughed and snorted at the same time.  
“I don' get m'self mosta'time either.”

Back at Baker House, Tony missed the banister of the staircase leading to their room on the third floor twice.

His friend switched sides and dragged both of them upwards. “That dude was about to...” Bruce's voice, seething as it was, trailed off into the night as he heaved heavy breaths. His roommate said nothing and sniffed out loud. On the very last set of stairs, they took a brief pause, and Bruce inwardly cursed his protesting muscles and burning lungs.

A warm palm then cupped his cheek out of nowhere, and he flinched. Tony's eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.  
  
“You're lookin out f'me, Moosh, Ilikethat, r'lly.”  
The Gothamite gave a curt shake of the head to brush off the hand and cleared his throat.  
“Someone has to. Come on, one more to go.”

Their feet clunked on wood as they trudged on, and Bruce sensed rather than saw Tony was still looking at him. Once they stood in front of their door, he propped the shorter boy against the wall and dug into his pockets for the keys.

“We're friends, B'uce, ar'n't we?”  
Wayne pulled out the key ring and unlocked the door.  
“If you say so.”

When he made a move to grasp for Tony's arm again to help him inside, the latter pulled away.  
Instead Tony bumped into him, prompting Bruce to steady him by the shoulders.  
“Nah-uh, ya don' understan'. I wanna be y'friend, kay? Bes' thing ev'r to happen t'me.”  
  
And then Tony Stark leaned forward, pecked his cheek, albeit sloppy, and stumbled inside.

  
**END of Part I**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so much for setting the scene. I'm just getting started on this verse, so I hope to see some of you around for part II.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading/commenting/subscribing/giving kudos :)


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